


Pounded in the Butt by My Aquadicks Lover

by kuro49



Category: Aquaman (2018), DC Extended Universe, DCU
Genre: Double Penetration in One Hole, Fish Dicks (in the form of cloaca and claspers), Inspired by The Shape of Water (2017), M/M, Mentions Of Unethical Experimentation, Stomach Bulge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-08-03
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuro49/pseuds/kuro49
Summary: Arthur has never needed a single reason to be a hero before, he isn't about to start needing one now to do what he does.In a facility that has no place to exist in a world where Arthur inherits Atlantis as King, he saves a creature of the Trench.





	Pounded in the Butt by My Aquadicks Lover

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lord Vitya (ProtoDan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProtoDan/gifts).



> special thanks to atom and coy boi coyote, the former for the beta and the latter for suggesting tatted up atlantean dick, the amazing pun that is this chuck tingle-esque title, and also the fanart in the end notes. 
> 
> trench boy has it/its pronouns (because a. intriguing touch on the dehumanization-connotation of it/its pronouns when addressing a creature that is definitely not human and finding the implications of that being rendered moot but also b. nah, i'm joking, its just easier to porn with different pronouns).
> 
> to my recipient: i know you were expecting more along the lines of arthur getting railed by a trench monster, i'm sorry you are getting a shape of water au instead. it's not a chuck tingle love story but a love story nonetheless.

In a facility that has no place to exist in a world where Arthur inherits Atlantis as King, it is a rainy day when Arthur finds what they refer to as the Asset.

Through brick walls and doors reinforced with steel at their core, Arthur sees beyond the three-inches of glass and the dark waters of the tank to find the dull glint of a metal collar welded shut around the neck of a creature from the Trench.

He is neither their King nor their Queen. But he has never needed a single reason before to be a hero. Arthur isn’t about to start needing one now to do what he does. He saves it.

When he puts his fist through the glass, it gives like it would through soaked cardboard.

The glass shatters easily, and the water of the tank holding centerfold in the room rushes outwards to fill the laboratory, washing the equipment into the walls with its vehement force. The audible alarms ringing throughout the complex go downright shrill and the red emergency lights begin to flash in each corner of the lab Arthur stands in, casting the entire space in an unsettling glow. It serves to match the sinister atmosphere of the facility with its concrete floor and shiny silver apparatuses laid out like a buffet next to a surgical table in the corner.

Arthur has no qualms with bringing the whole operation down to the ground with just ruins to show for its horrors. But his priority isn’t the deliberate destruction of this wretched place, he can come back here for just that if needed. Right this moment, he only has one intention running through his head (single-minded indeed).

To get the creature from the Trench back to where it is safe.

The anger feels anew, a fresh wave when Arthur can nearly taste the blood in the water when he finally lays eyes on the damage done.

Chained to the bottom of the tank by a collar at its throat, the creature is lying slumped, shallow shuddering breaths as its gills work gently to pull in air from the water of its surroundings. It's painful to watch and Arthur has seen plenty of terrors since even before he's joined a rag-tag team of metas and one overzealous man (the world calls them the Justice League for a lack of a better group of people to place their hope on).

He steps inside the frame of what is left of the tank and bends down so he isn't standing over the prone body still dragging in every breath like it could be its last. He has no idea if the creature can understand him but he says it regardless, if just to ground himself somewhere halfway from losing complete control at the knowledge of everything that has already been done to this creature.

“Hang on," he says to it, "I'm getting you out.”

And then he reaches out to snap the chain in two.

Arthur brings the creature back to the outskirts of Westfjords.

Back to his small cabin built by the edge of the Icelandic coast where the water is freezing and the ground is still covered in frost.

They are so far from the Trench, but it is necessary when Arthur has personally seen its home for himself. Witnessed the way the creatures of the Trench tear into one another at the slightest hint of weakness, at the smallest speck of blood in the water. He knows the singular rule of the Trench, one made of the primal instinct to feed. There is no empathy to their ways when there is no hesitation to consume even their own slain brethren.

Maybe it’s his hero complex.

Maybe it’s basic decency.

Or, maybe, if Arthur isn’t reading into things, it’s the way it clicks its teeth in something much like delight when it is sinking into Arthur’s bathtub up to its shoulders. Because Arthur will admit, easily that he didn't go all this way to save this one just to let it get brutally torn apart on his watch.

The first thing Arthur does is twist the metal collar off, careful where the edge of the shackle at its throat have rubbed the creature's neck raw, skin torn and still bleeding sluggishly. It doesn't hiss at Arthur, it doesn't even make a single attempt to make a strike at him when he touches a finger to the injuries. It simply bares all its teeth at him on the single clatter of the collar to the ground.

"You're okay," Arthur says, nodding his head slowly in an attempt to soothe. He reaches underneath the sink for an antibiotic cream, holds it up and opens the can for the creature to take a sniff first. "You're okay." He says again, grinning a little at the way the creature's nostrils twitch and barking out a laugh when it pulls back almost bodily at the pungent scent.

The creature doesn't lash out at him, so Arthur moves slow again, lets it see every move he makes before he actually follows through with the motion.

"That's right." Arthur says, and he still has no idea if the creature comprehends a thing he says but he figures it matters very little when the creature can clearly sense intention. "You're going to be just fine."

And Arthur has zero intention to hurt it.

He lets it soak, water up to its shoulders and drained once then twice until the water doesn't go pink.

When Arthur gestures for the creature to stand up from the tub so he can patch up the rest of its body and all the other cuts and barely healed scabs, the creature follows his instructions with a quick one-two flutter of the spines at its back. The red tipped fins may be lackluster and torn in places but Arthur can imagine how powerful they could be in a fair fight.

It gets Arthur smiling when the creature turns around, brandishes the length of its back to him like an open invitation.

His smile only dims like a quick burning match when he sees the electrical burns right at the softer part of its lower back where the spines taper off.

He breathes through his anger at man's capacity for cruelty and tries one for relief because Arthur has met its kind, once. In a desperate plunge into the Marianna's Trench. To see them leap at him with their sharp claws raised, territorial to the core, it feels almost at odds to see this creature here, near docile but finally not from fear.

Arthur doesn't forgive so easily. He doesn't forget either.

And he also doesn't so much as break the facility on his return as he dismantles the whole thing for good. The debris is all that is left, and it is a message, put through to the world as a warning from Aquaman himself (and that name is still a thing he is trying to get used to, to live up to). It is a surety that he will not stand for this. Not when he still breathes in both water and on land.

It is a promise made and put forth on the wrath of the King of Atlantis.

He keeps the lights dim and low, the temperature of the cabin cold.

He comes home still dripping water of the Atlantic Ocean from his skin to find the creature right where he left it, situated on his sofa, the old beaten thing almost looking as battered and bruised as the creature in it. It is picking at the bandages at its upper thigh where they made an especially nasty cut, wide and deep enough to touch bone on the first try.

Arthur goes to it, drags his eyes over it, catching every wound in the catalogue he's made of it before asking. "You okay?"

The creature nods, slow, like a motion it has just learned. And that could be entirely true.

"That's good." Arthur tells it, mouth tugging into a half-smile when he leans down to pull the knot of the bandages at the creature's neck right again.

When it places its hand to his arm, claws closing around his forearm, cool against the temperature of his half-breed skin, Arthur doesn't pull back. He leans in on an excuse that the righted knot needs further fussing.

Arthur has never been afraid.

Some call it stupidity (Wayne), and some call it naivety (also Wayne). Arthur calls it living (which Wayne so obviously does not do nearly enough of).

He isn't afraid now when he is marveling at the jutting dripping cocks protruding from the slit of the creature's cloaca. The twin cocks are bigger and thicker than even the best of men can offer, and Arthur has never once been able to turn down a challenge.

He sinks down to his knees, opening his mouth and dragging a rough broad tongue up and along the length of one, feeling the ridges on every inch he covers in spit.

Both hands come up while he is down on his knees to wrap them around the combined girth of the creature. Sizeable, and Arthur thinks he might end up being ruined for anything else if it feels as good buried inside of him as it does right now breaching into the widening seam of his mouth. He thinks hazily back on all those high school biology classes he never attended, eyes going half-lidded at the taste of salt, figuring it isn't a case of too little too late when marine biology today barely begins to cover something as much of an unknown as the creature that stands before him.

Arthur smugly thinks, he is doing this for science before he is wrapping his lips around the head of both cocks and swallowing to have them pushing as far as they go into the tight hot fit of his mouth.

It's really not much but he thinks the creature approves in that wordless way when it reaches out and touches a hand, almost gingerly to the crown of Arthur's head. Arthur draws back on a wet sloppy moan, and he thinks the creature almost makes one in mirror to his.

It takes him to bed, right where they are.

Arthur has been swarmed by hundreds if not thousands of them but this, this one may look the same as all the others but it feels different, and Arthur has felt that difference when he was standing in the middle of the lab where it was being kept.

Its blood in the water that washes against his feet.

Arthur can feel his body shudder at the slow press of it all. He arches his spine into it, craving more, his tattoos in near motion with each shift of the muscles in his shoulders as he clenches his hands against the back of the couch. One inch at a time, the girth of both cocks stretches him gaping wide, and it feels like it could be forever when it finally bottoms out inside.

A gentle brush of the creature's claw against his lower abdomen has him glancing down with damp lashes obscuring half his vision to find the slight bulging from when its cocks has him completely filled to the brim.

On the first thrust, Arthur nearly shouts loud enough to go hoarse.

He lets the creature's hand curl around his hips, lets those long razor sharp nails dig into his flesh. His skin doesn't break but it does leave some very lovely indentations when it presses in hard, drawing faint trails of white turned pink when the creature drags its nails against his sides to bring him closer.

That gets Arthur swearing in between every choked off breath being fucked right out of him. His mouth falling open as it rocks into him, the ridges of its cocks scraping against all the right spots inside of him. His jaw going lax as he rocks back, a matching force on a single point, his hair still dripping drops of the ocean to splash against the scuffed floorboards of the living room on each thrust.

It takes a lot to render Arthur still.

But right here, with the creature at his back fucking into him, Arthur is at its mercy. His hole clenching down on the intrusion that fills him so fully, forcing out the softest of whines at the emptiness when it draws back until just the heads of its cocks are still inside. Its movements get near frantic as it gets close, sounding so lewd with every shove, wet slick noises of precum and spit. Sticky and thick and so fucking messy where Arthur can feel it sliding down the inside of his thighs.

He's got half his mind left but Arthur is careful not to snag a hand against the neatly wrapped bandages on the creature. He grips it by its arms, still holding him close around the waist, finding purchase in that when he has it taking nearly his full weight to lean back. His head tipping to rest against the creature's shoulder, feeling the prominent ridges of its rib cage pressing along the stretch of his spine.

The shift makes the next shove of his hips backwards just that much harder, has him fucking himself on its cocks just that much deeper, has him feeling the way the creature fills him up when it comes just like this. A rush, hot and thick and _so_ much inside of him.

It has Arthur following in quick succession.

With his hand on his cock, fucking into his own fist, he tracks the taut pull of the stark ink that start just below his chest. The intricate lines of his tattoos follow the curve of his ribs, extending straight down the toned planes of his abdominals to wrap all the way around his erection. He bucks into the tight grip of his fingers, pumping once then twice as he works himself over that last edge.

When Arthur comes, he is spilling messily over his own hand. 

It gives him all the time he needs, a breather and a moment to settle into this sensation alone. The creature only draws back on the motion to pull out when Arthur is nodding his head, touching his cum-stained hand to one of the claws still holding him up.

“It’s okay,” he tells it on a low rasp, giving it the confirmation it is seeking. 

His groan is still embarrassingly loud and lewd when it finally pulls out from so deep inside of him and he is left standing in its hold, its release dripping freely from between his legs.

This time, Arthur joins the Trench creature in the bathroom. He also follows it into the tub.

It’s barely enough room for one of them let alone both of them and it takes a little bit of maneuvering that gets the shower curtains bisected horizontally when one of the creature’s spines gets caught on the flimsy plastic. But it works even if they get water all across the tiles of the bathroom.

Arthur cleans himself out then turns around and beckons it to him with the showerhead.

Turning it to freezing, he begins rinsing the creature off, lets it pick at the bandages until it falls free, washing off the antibiotic cream to find fresh healing scars in its place.

Arthur smiles at the progress and listens to the soft rumbling clicks the creature makes at him.

He takes it to bed, this time to the only bed in the cabin.

It is easy to work himself open for the twin cocks again when he took them so well that first time. Arthur has the creature on his back, careful of all of its injuries as he is rocking his hips down and getting the sizable length and girth of its cocks buried deep inside of him once more.

He wants it to feel just as he does, and Arthur isn't entirely sure what that means even though the implications are very much all laid out. And there is nothing murky about it when he can see all the way through the depths of his feelings to the bottom of his own intentions.

His grip goes bone white as he grabs the headboard of the bed, hears it thudding resoundingly into the wall of his cabin on each shove of his hips down. The pace is one he sets for himself and it is just the way he likes it, not slow, but steady and brutal in its strength, and each time, it is a collision that hits just right when he is seeing white. 

It is a strange enough feeling working itself through Arthur to know the power just below the skin of the creature he’s got laid out in his bed. Arthur doesn’t startle when it brings a clawed hand up to touch his chest, he only wonders if the creature knows the significance that it can probably feel the thundering beat of his heart just beneath his sternum if it listened hard enough.

It doesn’t press down with the razor sharp edge of its nails. It simply allows the gentle scratch of its nails to leave three thin trailing vertical tracks over and over again as Arthur works himself up to slam right back down on the full fill of its cocks all the way inside of him.

Arthur feels the full body shiver when its nails scrap against the edge of a nipple and catches against the peak. He bares his teeth when he grins down and gets a full set back. And it is still that same dawning thought running inside of his head to want to continue being on the receiving end of all this power for the duration that the creature will have of him.

They are at the edge of the Atlantic Ocean, the cabin at their backs, the water already up to their waist.

There are no visible wounds on the creature but the scars are clear, and Arthur can trace nearly half of it and guess the horror behind it. Empathy is shown, and it shines with it. Arthur realizes that this is what makes it different than all the ones to dwell inside the Trench. Arthur faintly remembers the way he is drawn to that facility, he doesn't hear a cry for help. He heard something far deeper than that.

Goodbye is a funny thing when they have never even exchanged so much as a hello. It doesn't talk, it doesn't need to when it speaks of an invitation that Arthur doesn't hear. And he doesn't need to when he can understand the intention behind it.

When the creature of the Trench dives deep, Arthur isn't far at all behind it.

**Author's Note:**

> i'd just like to say, i'm entirely okay if we skip author reveal altogether.


End file.
